Of Ribbons, Princes, and Fairy Tale Endings
by DallaLuna
Summary: A downtrodden and unsuspecting Cinderella meets her Prince Charming... and doesn’t even know it. An insight into the mind of the often onedimensional heroine. Hopefully a departure from the ‘Everything is peachy even though my stepmother is a slavedriver’


Summary: A downtrodden (and unsuspecting) Cinderella meets her Prince Charming... and doesn't even know it. An insight into the mind of the often one-dimensional heroine. Hopefully a departure from the 'Everything is peachy even though my stepmother is a slavedriver' Disney Cinderella. One Shot.

---

Of Ribbons, Princes, and Fairy Tale Endings

---

Adele was shocked that there could be so many different sorts of pink ribbon. There were pink ribbons in satin and velvet and every fabric in between, pink ribbons of both the wide and thin variety, and, (as if there were not so many pink ribbons as it were) a vast array of shades of damnable pink! What promised to be a simple chore, in fact, was turning out to be quite the nightmare. She ran her fingers over the different sorts, reminding herself that it didn't even matter _what_ kind she chose. In the end, she would be met with the indignant screaming and scolding from her step-sisters and the same unbearable degradation that she always received from her stepmother. She hated ribbons. She hated _her_.

_The moment I have enough money to sustain me even for a week_, Adele vowed silently to herself, _I will leave that cursed house and that cursed woman and her hideous cursed daughters._ She was perfectly aware of how often she had made that same avowal and how she was _still _a slave in her father's house. But Adele was poignantly aware of the plight of a penniless young woman; too aware, indeed, to possibly risk _that_ fate. So she put off her departure as she accumulated funds from various chores for various villagers; making scarcely enough to purchase even one of the frivolous ribbons that her step-sister so desperately 'needed'. Certainly not enough to build any sort of life.

Adele was vaguely aware of the shop-owner's eyes following her distrustfully. She wanted to send him a defiant glare, but she simply continued fingering the ribbons with her calloused hands, unable to muster any sort of boldness. Who could blame him for his concern? She looked like a vagrant; she was perfectly aware of that. Adele's clothes, of cheap linen to begin with, were worn and stained, and the dress itself was so horridly ill-fitting that it might as well have been a potato sack. She had always been pretty enough, but her cheeks and nose were freckled and her body tan; a tell-tale sign of low class and lack of breeding. Besides, she had the overall lusterless appearance of the malnourished paupers that waste away on the streets, regardless of how regularly she scrubbed her face and hands and brushed her tawny locks. It didn't do to fret over it. _There's nothing that can be done. Nothing, that is, until I'm rid of that monster! _She glanced at the shopkeeper and sighed.

"How much for 6 hand's length of ribbon?" Adele inquired politely, her voice as sweet and proper as any Lord or Lady's. She held up the satin ribbon and smiled sweetly. Tanned and freckled though she was, Adele could budge just about any man with that look. The shopkeeper, a tall, balding, well-to-do looking sort, crossed his arms over his chest and sighed in resignation.

"How many francs have you?"

Adele grinned brightly and offered forth the change purse. "As many as you see there. Charge what you will. It is not my money, you see. Take it all if you must."

"Not a very loyal servant, are we?" The man replied drolly, counting the money out in his palm and sizing up the ribbon. "Well, you may have some back. Give it to your mistress or do with it what you will. What do I care? She is no friend of mine."

"If she should treat me like a servant and fritter my father's money away, what loyalty do I owe her?" Adele retorted, slipping the remainder of the coins and the ribbon into her apron pocket.

"None, I should think," he replied in good humor. "And pray tell, dear, sweet girl; what says your father of this?"

"What _can_ he say? He's dead," Adele retorted nonchalantly. "_Au revoir!_"

She shook her head as she exited the shop, thinking back upon her father with stoical calm. What passion could she feel for him? Her mother had been a poor seamstress whom he got in trouble, seducing her with promises of marriage and a better life. Of course, he meant nothing of what he said, being only three-and-twenty and having inherited his estate just two years before._ Though he was certainly deceitful, she must have been a right fool to fall for something so obviously false_! Adele offered logically in his defense, her conscience pricking. He _had_ always been kind to her; kinder, she supposed, than many other men in is position would have been. Her mother (poor lass that she was) died shortly after Adele's birth, leaving her hapless young father with an infant daughter that he'd had no intention of raising himself.

But he took her in and raised her, nonetheless. Or, more aptly, he took her in and handed her over to his loyal old nurse, who did her best (despite her advancing years) to care for and discipline a tireless child. Sighing as she strolled down the cobbled road, Adele languidly recalled her childhood. It was not so much particular occurrences, but the feeling of hopefulness and the people and the way they looked at her. She recalled the wrinkled face of her nurse Corinne smiling down at her and Father; handsome, harrowed Father begging her to bother him another time. And Adele could recall watching him in his study when he wasn't aware, smiling because she felt like she was close to him at times like that. _It was all very silly_, Adele knew now, _That nonsense of being near to him_. But it still made her feel a glowing happiness, pathetic though it was. Adele had adored and idolized him for years, realizing only after his death that he hadn't loved her a bit. And despite that, and her greatest efforts to loathe him for _that_, she still missed him and loved him and, occasionally, cried for him. _Even if he did not love me, he would not allow Charisse to treat me thusly!_

But what could he do about it now? _Nothing; that's what!_ Adele proceeded down the street, observing the different shops with increasing melancholy. A book store stood to her left; she dallied by the window momentarily, glancing over the books and manuscripts lustfully. _It does no good_, she chastised herself, reluctantly proceeding down the street. Charisse was expecting her, of course, and no time could be wasted foolishly perusing books. No time for that... Charisse _needed_ her. Floors needed scrubbing or Brigitte's dress or Heloise's petticoats demanded immediate hemming. Nothing could ever be quite so dire as Charisse's immediate concern; nothing so pressing as her will being carried out. _What a fool I am_, Adele thought bitterly,_ to ever hope of pursuing some dream of my own! What selfishness! And when there are things that Charisse _**_must_**_ have done, too! What an ingrate, she'll say to Brigitte. After all I've given that little mongrel , she'll say to Heloise_.

"No more!" Adele announced to no one in particular, putting her hands on her hips resolutely. "To hell with her! Let them grouse to themselves. I'll do what I please. She cannot starve me and beat me if I am not there to abuse!" And she smiled and turned on her heel, entering the bookshop with a marked difference in her posture.

Adele had dreamt of entering the shop many times, but never before had she actually entered it. It was a marvelously regal place with shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized books and a cool, intellectual air that seemed to boast of the cerebral works of philosophers and geniuses from centuries past. She felt terribly out of place in her hideous frock, but she was feeling far too forward to possible slink away now. Besides, there was no one there but the clerk, who was too utterly bemused by her entrance to be guarded. It was not a surprise, really; the typical peasant did not care two francs for reading. She sent him a radiant smile.

"I'm quite the anomaly, am I not?"

That seemed to placate him; the typical peasant didn't know what an anomaly was. Adele smirked to herself and ran her fingers over the spines of the books, marveling at the titles. _La Métamorphose_, _Crime et Punition_, _Le Prince_, _Guerre et Paix_, _Roi Lear_... All marvelous names! Such promise in each! She envied the scholars and nobles who could read any and all these at their leisure. She had not read a book since she was fourteen; since before the time she was so exhausted she could barely drag herself to bed. What she would give to be able to loll about with a good book in her lap! Adele sighed and reached for the change purse in her apron. Three francs? Three paltry francs? Scarcely enough to buy a crust of bread! She picked up the _Le Prince_ and flipped through the pages, taking in the musty scent, wishing that it was hers if only for that smell.

_What do I want a book for? I've no time to read_, Adele insisted, though she still held _Le Prince_ as if it were her own. She ran her fingers over the cover and prepared to set it back regretfully.

"A brilliant book." There was a young man standing in front of her, smiling genuinely. She stared at him stupidly.

"I said it's a brilliant book," he enthused for the second time, gesturing to _Le Prince _as if she were a moron

"I heard you the first time," Adele replied, narrowing her eyes in distrust. He was a handsome man; tall, with dark, smoldering eyes and sable hair, dressed in the plain, worn clothes of a traveling knight. There was an oddness about him, though, something so contrived that she was certain he was hiding something. He looked to be far too noble in bearing to be a mere knight. Besides, no knights that _she'd_ ever seen had ever displayed an interest in anything besides women or ale. _He's an anomaly, too, I suppose, _Adele thought with a smile before realizing with a blush that she was, in fact, a woman._ Or he could just a very determined young man._ She gazed upon him with scrutiny.

"You've read it then?" Adele asked, feeling at a loss for things to say after that.

"Read it? I_ live_ by it," he replied pensively. "I hope someday to ru-"

Adele furrowed her brow. "To what? I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you."

He smiled condescendingly and shook his head. "Nothing. Nevermind."

"No. I believe you said something," Adele insisted, pursing her lips. The man remained silent, his attractive black eyes focused intently on the ground. "Well, I appreciate your recommendation. I would love to buy it, but I fear lack of monetary funds prevents that."

Adele rolled her eyes; her knight-sans-shining-armor was quite obviously _not_ pursuing her (a relief, to be sure) and apparently did not care to even lower himself to reply to her. She glanced around the store and sighed, resigning herself to her fate. _I will go home, I will be chastised by Charisse, and I'll stop pretending to be brave. What can I do with three francs? Where can I go? Nothing and nowhere, that's the truth of it._ She set down _Le Prince _and closed her eyes, taking in the musty scent. _Hopefully it will last me through the scolding Charisse will give me. _She approached the door sourly.

"How much?" The young man stood there, earnestly watching her.

Adele shook her head. "I don't... _Oh._ I see. I'm perfectly fine... without it." Her cheeks burnt.

"I... I suppose it may seem a bit odd. But I'm a literary enthusiast myself, and-" He smiled at her sheepishly. "You must think me terribly odd."

"I don't know what to think, to be honest. Haven't you something better to spend your money on? If you buy me this book, the most you would get is a cordial 'thank you'," Adele informed him bluntly; shy though she typically was. "I think you're interesting. I think you must not be from around here. By which, I mean, you must be from some country in which people of no particular social standing would consider for a moment purchasing anything for somebody they don't know with the promise of nothing in return."

"And I think you're rather curious as well. A peasant girl with an affinity for reading! I've never seen such a thing. To be honest, I think it's rather... _charming_."

She put a hand on her hip. "And what are you, sir? A common..." Adele trailed off distractedly, a glint of something near the young man's waist catching her eye. Looking closely, one could just scarcely discern a jewel-encrusted sword hilt. She blushed and stared at him stupidly. "You're not... I think I must go."

He followed her eyes to his hip, confused until he saw the hilt. He paled slightly. "Wait... You don't-"

She tore out of the shop, miserably, feeling like a right fool. Of course he was no traveling knight! _How could I be so stupid? He was having a brilliant time, I suppose, building me up like that. Treating me with dignity, with kindness. Dignity... hah! I suppose he was just waiting for the moment that he could reveal his incredible wealth and laugh in my face. As if it were amusing. I suppose it must be to people like him and Charisse._ She clenched her fists and marched down the street, tears for some reason stinging her eyes. She did not want to admit to herself how hopeful she was of some sort of friend; how lovely it was to have kindness expressed to her.

Of course it was easy in hindsight to see that neither of those had been his aim.

"You're too sensitive, Adele; far too sensitive for your own good," she scolded herself, wiping furiously at her eyes. "What do you care if some self-entitled noble has a laugh at your expense? What does it matter tomorrow, when you're scrubbing the floors again? _Tonight_, when you're scrubbing out the pots? God must prefer Charisse. This must be His way of saying that I should've gone home when I was supposed to."

She gritted her teeth and reached in her pocket for the ribbon, muttering hatefully under her breath. "_Oh Charisse, if I have not already given you all that your thankless heart desired, I will torture Adele until she--" _She paused frantically in her muttering.The ribbon was gone. Adele dug further into her apron pocket, horrified. All that ribbon gone? How? She gave a resigned groan. _Now I've got to go back and look for it? Damn. But I must. Heloise would simply die if she didn't get her damned pink ribbon. Now I'll be even later and I'll get in even more trouble... Lovely. Just marvelous._

Adele turned back, _really_ cursing God, only to find the young man approaching her with his arms behind his back and his lips pressed dourly together. She avoided his eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Here to have another laugh?" Adele snapped. " _'A peasant girl with an affinity for reading', 'I find it rather charming'_... _Humph_! What exactly are you doing in disguise? Don't you _like_ boasting your incredible wealth? Isn't it more enjoyable poking fun at us quaint little peasants when you can sufficiently shame us with your abundantly superior garments?"

"You've got it all wrong," he explained impertinently. "I don't go about in disguise with the intent of tricking poor girls in bookshops, however appealing that may be. (He said this with dripping sarcasm.) I only do it... That doesn't matter. Here--" The man thrust _Le Prince _at her, and tucked in the front cover of which was her pink ribbon. "I assumed that was yours, as well."

She stared at him for a moment, the whole of her heart-shaped face growing impossibly red. "I--" Adele felt even more like a fool. He'd actually been sincere. "I'm..."

The young man shrugged it off. "Obviously my disguise had one rather large flaw. You would think I'd notice something so blatantly obvious, but I use the same sword everyday and I just happened to--"

"Who are you?" Adele inquired boldly, hugging the book to her chest as her stomach fluttered. She studied his face for a moment with sparkling olive-colored eyes, realizing after a moment she was being rude. "My name is Adele and-- I haven't thanked you yet, have I? Thank you! Thank you, eh... Have you a name?"

"I do." He smiled demurely, apparently not very forthcoming with such things.

"I'd thought... Well, I'm sorry for what I thought. Apparently I was wrong!" Adele couldn't stop smiling. _He thinks you're a fool... Grinning away like that. Stop that, Adele! _But she couldn't help it. She bent her nose down to _Le Prince_, taking in the scent and running her fingers over the leather binding. "It's marvelous!"

"I said I lived by _Le Prince,_ but I fear that's an exaggeration. I'm not quite so pessimistic, you see. One might assume anyone living by _Le Prince_ would have to be rather ruthless, but I suppose I live by a modified version. I hope to be loved _and_ feared... Not too feared if I don't need to be. Not feared by you, at least." He laughed, as Adele quirked an eyebrow ignorantly. He noticed and smiled apologetically. "You haven't any idea _what_ I'm talking about."

Adele shook her head cheerfully, tucking a tawny lock behind her ear. "No... I fear I don't."

"Well, if you'd any doubts before, _Le Prince _is the farthest thing from a fairy tale that you'll ever read."

"Good," Adele announced boldly. "I certainly don't care for fairy tales any more. They're lovely when you're a child, but when you get older you realize how silly it all is. Princes and fairies and happy endings? None of that ever happens in real life. If it did, I imagine I would have met my prince a long time ago."

The young man suddenly flushed. "Yes, well... I think I must go." The sable-haired youth turned around abruptly, walking at a feverish pace away from Adele without so much as a 'Goodbye' or 'Good riddance'. She frowned, too shy to pursue him but impatient to get some answers.

"What is your name? Are you a Duc, Comte, Marquis... Please! _Sir_!" Adele waved her book in the air frantically. "How am I to pay you back? I don't even know your name!" But he had slipped behind a vender's cart and disappeared from Adele's sight altogether, leaving her sullenly clutching the book. _It does not matter. Who was he? Just a kind soul. Or perhaps not even! I suppose he's rather proud of himself, condescending to buy a poor creature a book. He felt sorry for me, I suppose. Who would not feel for me; looking the way that I do?_ She surveyed her poor excuse for a gown and her leathery, calloused hands, self-pity rising in her; just as sickening and acerbic as bile rising in one's throat.

What cause was there to be pitied? This was the best day that she'd had in a long time. Adele appraised her book again proudly, swallowing her misery with her usual indifference. (After all, she knew better than anyone that it did no good.) She knew not when she would read it between all her chores, but that didn't matter so much as the fact that she _did_ have it and it was hers. It was not Brigitte's, Heloise's, or Father's or Charisse's. It was something of her very own; something that she could hide beneath her pillow and open whenever she was feeling particularly down. And Charisse could never take it away because she would never know of it.

Adele felt marvelously light-hearted. She knew that no feeling ever lasted long; none save hatred and bitterness. Happiness was fleeting. And one solitary book and one solitary act of kindness from one anonymous young man was hardly enough to last her through all the misery to come. But at that moment, none of that mattered. It never did; not until she was unhappy again, at least. Not until Adele was beaten and bruised and exhausted did she allow herself to think miserably upon the moments of weakness and mirth with disgust and derision.

"It's only a book," Adele sighed, unsuccessfully trying to dampen her own spirits. "But who knows? Perhaps the prince will come next! Or the fairy godmother." She snorted in amusement, continuing on sarcastically. "What was I thinking? The fairy godmother comes first, _then_ the prince. And then the grand wedding with the beautiful gown and the priceless jewels. And then, of course, comes the happy ending."

But Adele did not even care so much for happy endings. _Too cliche_, she decided, not at all bitterly._ Le Prince_ was tucked deep into her apron pocket, safely, until it could she could smuggle it to her attic bedroom. And that was really all the good fortune that any oppressed cinder-girl could ask for in one day.

---

**A/N-** My first one shot. I got the idea while watching _Pride and Prejudice_ when Elizabeth is in the ribbon shop... And from there it got a mind of its own. Perhaps it's still a bit cliche, but at least she's bitter and hateful and more real. At least in my opinion. For the record, I have no idea how much anything in any time period would cost in francs; I just like the sound of French names and the language.

And freshman english came in handy... I somehow unwittingly employed the use of dramatic irony with the book title. That was purely accidental, mind you. But pretty cool, I think. The prince is sorta arrogant, but he's a prince. The fact that he would even care anything about some peasant girl is treading in implausible waters. But it is Cinderella, so moderate amounts of cliche-ness are permitted. Let's just say she's pretty or something and leave it at that.

I guess that's all the rambling I've got in me.

And if you don't mind: review!


End file.
